


she, an acolyte

by jellijeans



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Spoilers, also the tiznes is fairly background but it's definitely still There especially towards the end, in case anyone was wondering lmao, the acolyte is the acolyte from the scene "no entry to the altar of wind"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 00:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: Her Holiness does not pray for the Hero of Norende the same way she prays for the other departed; there are no whispers of the peace one finds when they return to the Crystals, there are no dreams for reincarnations, for meeting and existing in a better life; instead, she prays he will wake up, that they will be together once more, cries that he did not deserve such a fate, and the acolyte wonders what makes the Hero of Norende so different than everyone else.The Hero of Norende is dead, she thinks. He will not wake up.But she would not dare tell that to Her Holiness.





	she, an acolyte

She is nothing but a mere acolyte of the Temple of Wind, seer to the Crystal of Wind; she walks the halls of those destroyed by the darkness that once came, two and a half years ago, and she sees the remnants of their lives pulsing through every column, every brick, every new acolyte that wanders the same halls they once did.

Most of all, she sees them in Her Holiness, who comes to the Wind Crystal and prays every day, or at least as often as she can.

The acolytes no longer permit strangers to enter the altar.

They did, once; and then the darkness overtook, and Her Holiness instructed her not to let strangers into the altar, and since then, she has stood watch, leaving only occasionally to pray.

 

-

 

She listens, sometimes, when Her Holiness prays; often, she prays for the return of a beloved one—

—Tiz Arrior, the Hero of Norende, Hero of Caldisla—

—and often, the acolyte thinks how strange it is that Her Holiness refers to him merely as Tiz when she is alone.

It’s always something formal when Her Holiness speaks to the young leader of the Crystalguard, after all.

 

-

 

Her Holiness does not pray for the Hero of Norende the same way she prays for the other departed; there are no whispers of the peace one finds when they return to the Crystals, there are no dreams for reincarnations, for meeting and existing in a better life; instead, she prays he will wake up, that they will be together once more, cries that he did not deserve such a fate, and the acolyte wonders what makes the Hero of Norende so different than everyone else.

 

The Hero of Norende is dead, she thinks. He will not wake up.

But she would not dare tell that to Her Holiness.

 

-

 

She meets eyes with Her Holiness, once, as she approaches the altar with the Grand Marshal’s daughter; how strange, she thinks, that Her Holiness of all people should come here with the heir to all Eternia, the country that had once stood between her and—

—and the end, the acolyte supposes. Her Holiness had rewritten texts from the scripture to change the fate that they had lead her to, fix the corruption that had accumulated for so long.

(She had watched—in silence, of course. She does not speak to Her Holiness unless spoken to first, and Her Holiness rarely speaks.

She really only does so to the Three Cavaliers, or to the Wind Crystal—when she prays.)

 

She does not speak when Her Holiness enters the altar with the Eternian heiress’ hand in hers, and she does not speak when she hears them both begin to cry, both call for the Hero of Norende and beg for him to awaken.

No, she does not speak, merely closes her eyes and feels the energy of the crystal thrum through her veins, adding a small prayer to join alongside Her Holiness’.

 

-

 

After that, Her Holiness comes to pray with her eyes down, and she does not speak.

The acolyte does not speak back to her, of course, merely bows and keeps her eyes down.

She does not speak to Her Holiness after that.

 

-

 

Years have passed. The Hero of Norende has no longer just been asleep for a couple days or weeks—it has been two years since he fell asleep, and Her Holiness still comes to pray as often as she can.

 

She fears for the day when Her Holiness prays that his passing will be swift and painless, fears for the day she gives up, as if prayers are what keep Hero of Norende alive; she brushes that thought aside and thinks it stupid until the Grand Marshal’s daughter returns, holding Norendian shepherd’s garb, face still stained red from tears, and quietly explains that the Hero of Norende is finally slipping.

His body is failing, she says. There are medical terms that she, a mere acolyte, doesn’t understand, something she thinks might be about brains or hearts or something—but the point remains the same; he is slipping, falling far out of their grasp, and prayers are all they have left.

 

Still, Her Holiness refuses to pray for a swift end; instead, she just prays in silence, often with her hands clenched until her knuckles are white; the shirt that the Grand Marshal’s daughter brought in has found its way to the altar, and there it sits, undisturbed, as if waiting for someone to pick it up.

 

No one comes; only Her Holiness leaves, to be taken by the Glanz Empire, and there the shirt sits, untouched, and still waiting to be found.

 

-

 

By the time the news of the Hero of Norende finally awakening hits the Temple, Her Holiness has already been gone for a few weeks, and she regrets that Her Holiness could not be here to see him, to finally reunite with the boy—

—no, he’s twenty-two now, she believes. He is no longer a boy, now a man—

—that she had prayed for so long to meet.

 

She still does not speak, merely makes eye contact with another acolyte before glancing down as the other acolyte walks away.

 

-

 

She is nothing but a mere acolyte of the Temple of Wind, seer to the Crystal of Wind; she walks the halls of those destroyed by the darkness that once came, two and a half years ago, and she sees the remnants of their lives pulsing through every column, every brick, every new acolyte that wanders the same halls they once did.

She no longer sees Her Holiness, and so some of the thrum is gone, and she does not know if it will be back.

Her Holiness would have scolded her for her lack of faith in the Crystals, but Her Holiness is no longer here, and has not been for a while.

Still, she watches over the altar, only leaving occasionally to pray, and lets no strangers in; Her Holiness would be disappointed in her if she did.

 

-

 

The Hero of Norende himself comes to visit the altar, alongside the Grand Marshal’s daughter, the young leader of the Crystalguard, and a strange silver-haired woman; as much as it pains her, she does not let them enter.

Only Her Holiness is permitted to enter the altar, after all. She does not want to let Her Holiness down.

They introduce themselves one by one in an effort to get in, starting with the leader of the Crystalguard, and then the Grand Marshal’s daughter, declaring herself as the Pope’s best friend; the Grand Marshal’s daughter then tries to use the Hero of Norende, declaring him to be the Pope’s boyfrie—

—he slaps a hand over the Eternian heiress’ mouth after that with a prompt “we’re _leaving,_ Edea!”, and then practically drags his ragtag teammates out by the hands, and this time, she does not drop her eyes, watching them all the way out.

It’s no surprise that Her Holiness fell in love with him, she thinks. There’s certainly something charming about his somewhat rugged yet still vaguely boyish face, tired as it might be; his wild hair and clothing are certainly...something else, but she sees it.

And she doesn’t miss the way that the Hero of Norende pauses at the entrance of the Temple and halts for a moment, turning around to face the altar and doing a quick if sloppy prayer ritual—

—he tries, the acolyte realizes. And she watches him as his lips tighten and as he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and she listens as he promises to save Her Holiness.

 

He tries, and he leaves, and she stands, preventing strangers from entering the altar.

She did not give him the shirt, and there it sits, unclaimed, still waiting to be found.

 

-

 

Her Holiness comes back later, and she doesn’t seem quite herself, but she doesn’t question it. She hasn’t slept in days, hearing all the things the Glanz Empire has done; her eyes feel as if they’re peeled open, and she watches, unseeing, as Her Holiness comes in, experiences, unfeeling, the flash of the Crystal as it awakens beyond what should be possible, and doesn’t speak when Her Holiness leaves.

The end is near; she no longer feels the lives of the old acolytes, once found so heavily in the columns, in the bricks, in Her Holiness—she feels them nowhere, especially not in Her Holiness, not even in herself.

They have left, like Her Holiness, like the Hero of Norende, like the moon, like time itself as it slips away, and she doesn’t know how long it’s been since she’s slept; the world goes black and white, and sleep no longer matters, because time stops in motion, and she feels nothing.

Still, she stands, preventing strangers from entering the altar.

It’s all she has left.

Her Holiness would be disappointed in her otherwise.

 

-

 

She is nothing but a mere acolyte of the Temple of Wind, seer to the Crystal of Wind; she walks the halls of those destroyed by the darkness that once came, two and a half years ago, and she sees the remnants of their lives pulsing through every column, every brick, every new acolyte that wanders the same halls they once did.

Most of all, she sees them in Her Holiness, who comes to the Wind Crystal and prays every day, or at least as often as she can.

The acolytes no longer permit strangers to enter the altar.

They did, once; and then the darkness overtook, and Her Holiness instructed her not to let strangers into the altar, and since then, she has stood watch, leaving only occasionally to pray.

 

-

 

Wash, rinse, repeat: in her dreams, the world is a cycle, one flipped on its side by the young leader of the Crystalguard, the Grand Marshal’s daughter, the Hero of Norende, and a strange silver-haired woman. When the cycle was upright, Her Holiness was gone; now it sits flipped on its side like an abandoned wheel, and a new one spins in its place.

She feels the thrum of the Wind Crystal from the new one. From the old one, she feels nothing.

Wash, rinse, repeat: in her dreams, she stands outside the altar, has not slept in forever, and nothing is real.

Wash, rinse, repeat: when she awakens, she returns to her spot outside the altar, fresh and spritely after having slept a full night’s sleep, and watches as Her Holiness bounds into the altar, coming out with the shirt clenched tightly in her hands, among other things thrown loosely into a bag. There are happy tears on Her Holiness’ face, a smile that she feels as if she has never seen before, and she promises to watch over the altar for Her Holiness as she leaves.

Her Holiness responds that there is no need as she rushes out the door.

For what feels like the first time, she leaves.

 

Wash, rinse, repeat: in her dreams, the wheel slows, one rotation at a time.

 

-

 

She feels a sudden burning flash. It has only been a few days since she left the altar.

 

-

 

Wash, rinse, repeat: the wheel stops, and then all at once, keeps going, hurtling into a speed faster than she’s ever seen before.

 

-

 

The next time she sees Her Holiness; it’s because she’s come to the Temple to bid everyone goodbye; beside her is the Hero of Norende, finally changed into the shepherd’s garb that had been sitting on the altar for so long (although his hair is still just as wild as she remembers it being—in her dreams, at least). Her Holiness wears casual clothes, one hand slipped in the Hero of Norende’s, fingers interlaced.

Her Holiness drops his hand for a second to take the acolyte’s hands in hers, and looks up at her earnestly, smiling.

“Thank you for your service all these long years,” she says softly. The acolyte shakes her head.

“It’s nothing,” she says quietly, and her voice crackles. It feels as if it’s been so long since they’ve spoken. “I’m proud to serve here.”

“If you wish,” Her Holiness speaks slowly, “you are relieved of your duty. As I am no longer Pope, nor even a vestal, my acolytes are free to leave, if you so desire—”

“No, I’ll stay,” she says with a smile. “I’ll watch over the altar for you, or whoever comes next. It’s what you asked. I don’t want to disappoint you, Your Holiness.”

Her Holiness pauses, and then smiles, hands tightening around hers once more.

“Thank you,” she says. The acolyte smiles. Her Holiness suddenly flushes a little bit, and turns to the side; this time, it is she who breaks eye contact. “Also, seeing as I am no longer Pope...please call me Agnès, if that is acceptable.”

The acolyte nods. Her Holiness—no, _Agnès_ —lets go and once again slides the Hero of Norende’s hand in hers, fingers interlacing once again.

“I pray for your happiness,” she says, voice soft, and Agnès smiles, once again.

With that, she leaves, and there she stands, once again by the altar, once again preventing strangers from entering the altar.

 

-

 

The last time she sees Agnès, she wears Norendian garb, different than what she’s always seen her in. She is once again with Tiz, hair a little more tame, and both of them are tanned and smell of the country, much different than the desert she’s been used to; Agnès wears a white shawl, draped around her shoulders and heavily embroidered around the edges—she recognizes it as traditional Norende wear, worn by married women.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Agnès says with a smile, and the acolyte smiles back.

“Were you hoping to give a prayer at the altar today?”

“I was, but I know that may be unacceptable, given my policy,” she says with a laugh. Her free hand falls over her stomach, slightly round beneath her dress, and Tiz’s eyes soften as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head, hand tightening around hers. “We merely wanted to pray for good health and a future happy life—a preemptive baptism, I suppose. If that is unacceptable, I would appreciate if you could pray for us—”

“You can,” the acolyte says, and Agnès looks up at her, eyes slightly wide. She laughs. “The altar is only closed to strangers, and you certainly aren’t one.”

Agnès smiles. “Thank you.”

 

She watches as the former Pope and the Hero of Norende share a tender look as they head in, and she once again resumes her spot outside the altar.

 

-

 

She is nothing but a mere acolyte of the Temple of Wind, seer to the Crystal of Wind; she walks the halls of those destroyed by the darkness that once came, some long years ago, and she sees the remnants of their lives pulsing through every column, every brick, every new acolyte that wanders the same halls they once did.

Most of all, she sees them in Agnès and Tiz Arrior and their children, who come to the Wind Crystal and pray maybe not every day, but at least as often as she can.

**Author's Note:**

> me? not writing for my multi chapter fic that i haven't updated in two weeks and instead writing a 2.5k word vaguely tiznes fic bc of an impulse? more likely than you think!!
> 
> actually i really like how this turned out so i hope you like it !! thank you for the support!! ;;v;;


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